I stood in amazement. I looked at my mana pool, and I had used only five percent to increase the gravity on the rock. I tried to use it on something heavier with varied success. I assumed that with the larger rocks, I couldn't increase the gravity to a point where it would break through the floor because of the increased surface area supporting the stones. I tried, but the bigger the object I attempted to raise the gravity on or the more dense the material was, the higher the cost to my MP.

  I felt the energy in my body return. I had been experimenting with my new power so long that I slipped out of the mana-starved state and didn't realize it. I continued my practice well into the following day, feeling energized by my research.

  I glanced at my pickaxe. The long silver head was about a third less than when I had set out for mining, which felt like weeks ago. The once pristine head was now a haggard and warped version of itself. It wouldn't make it much longer. I desperately needed a resupply; I could make it using bone tools to fight monsters for a while, but I was sure that I had only received my prospector class because of the trusty spike on a stick that I had grown accustomed to. Once again, I headed back in the familiar direction of the platform.

  I felt drawn to it, after all, it was the only reason I lived when the collapse turned my life into an inescapable nightmare. I looked for the platform with my mana eyes, but it was no longer there. I knew that this was the location that it had been because I saw the trail of blood from my stumps that just stopped at this spot. Some of my blood must have pooled and formed a circle around where the platform had been. This was definitely where Dia had rewound my body. I traced my path to the location of the collapse. I noticed nothing but rubble and the decaying smell of what I assumed to be my decomposing legs. I began to climb the boulders.

  I needed a new pickaxe and knew exactly where I could get one. I felt the rough handholds in my palms. I was used to hard labour and had callouses built up from all of the weapon practice I had done during the elves' occupancy of West Texas. They weren't a good thing I learned while rock climbing. The tougher patches of skin began to pull off easily against the scaly stones. It became difficult to grasp the next spot for my hands, which were slick with sweat and blood. My body began to shake violently. I knew that I was level 30 and had no chance of being severely injured from a fall of this magnitude anymore. But telling my body, which still remembered plummeting through the air only to be met with the most excruciating crawl, seemed not to affect my nervous system. I forced myself through until I reached the hole, which I remembered them boarding up with planks. They moved easily, without even a nail securing the flimsy boards.

  "Yeah, that makes sense. Why would anyone want to ensure the safety of property?" I said, whispering with disgust. If they had cared to fasten the planks down with something, my emergence from the hole would have been much louder. But I couldn't help but feel the deep rage inside me bubble. I gave them everything. I was willing to put my life on the line in those wars, only for them to put me in this god forsaken hole. I worked my fingers to the bone and was treated more like a dog. And the only thing they did was cover me up with probably what amounted to one copper.

  I stood in the work spot that should have been familiar, but it felt more like a hazy fever dream. The miners had made a lot of progress and must have cleared everything for the next half mile. I could hear their picks hitting stone in the familiar clangs I had grown accustomed to just down the hall; It was strange that my senses had increased so much without having a perception stat. It used to be white noise, but it felt so foreign. I knew that I had to run if I was going to make it back to camp before the silent soldiers marched the slaves back to the huts. I began to run with a purpose and entered the camp just short of an hour after I set out. I saw my familiar slave hut and entered; We had all kept extra clothes and tools in case they broke. The slave smiths were overloaded and sometimes issued the wrong pickaxe to us, so we found it easier just to keep a backup from the other slaves who died of exhaustion. We would have to get to them before the guardians noticed, because once they got their hands on the fallen ones, collecting anything from the bodies would be impossible. It was a horrible practice, but we all knew we had an expiration date and wouldn't take it personally to begin looted.

  Some liked to use the axes with longer handles, while others wanted a lighter head. I looked at old Jeremiah's pick; he always had the heaviest, most enormous head. It wasn't something I would like to use for a 14-hour day of hacking at the special mana stones. But I had learned firsthand that more material would benefit me, especially since I didn't want to make it a habit to sneak in and out of this death camp. I tied the pickaxe to my back; now I finally had a spare.

  I went to the initiates' barracks hoping to find some armour or a backpack, as much as the idea of a hobo sack attached to my pick appealed to the master prospector in me, I wanted to loot this camp for anything helpful. I saw silent guards leisurely playing cards just outside the door. This must be where they traded in and out for duty of watching the slaves. I hadn't realised that there would be so many guards hanging around camp, but that made sense because if they worked the employees as hard as the slaves, they would have a mutiny on their hands.

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  Imperial Guard, lvl 22, HP 300, MP 0. This silent elf has cut his ears off and his tongue out to ensure that his life is one of servitude for the empire. Generally, these warriors are recruited from prisons and are saved from their fate of going to the executioner.

  I counted 10 guards in total, each barely above level 20. Looking at the familiar guards, I felt like a lion looking at defenseless lambs. I looked for their weapons, but to my astonishment, they didn't have a single baton or plasma rifle. I saw it in the middle of the table: a single tactical knife on the table where the guards sat. This wouldn't do. I had to show these elves they should never assume they are safe in a dungeon.

  I applied mana to the knife until it shot through the table. One of the guards went under the table to inspect what had just happened. The rest must have been too drunk to notice. That was when I made my move. I launched myself towards the unsuspecting drunkards. In an overhead chop, I swung down with my trusty bone pickaxe. I increased the gravity on the head, and it easily split the helmet and met the soft grey matter just underneath. Before the rest of the guards who were watching, dazed at the sight of a new slave driving a pick into their coworker's head could react. I lunged at another guard, swinging my fist as hard as I could for his chest, where I saw a crimson circle faintly glowing under his armor, my caveman skill guiding me. As I hit, I felt some electronic box crush under my knuckles, the elf began to rip off his armor, and the others quickly began to flee. I took a note from my former correctional officers and took off. I looked back at the elf I hit, and he glared back at me, his mangled ear holes red with anger. I watched as an explosion engulfed half the barracks, and the ball of blue flame came rushing for me. I quickly opened a portal before me and teleported the blast away.

  Congratulations, defeating your first organised army of 45, you have reached level 33.

  Titanium skin: Your skin will become slightly imbued with the properties of titanium -50% damage taken from physical attacks, 50% resistance to heat and corrosive attacks. Be careful, though, as titanium is weak when shrinkage is induced by cold and is conductive to electricity. -50% resistance to cold and electricity.

  Meteorite: This is a direct upgrade to the skill Dash. You call upon all the energies from the cosmos. Your movement speed is increased. Who said that your space affinity was only for portals? Uses 50 MP and has a duration of 2 minutes.

  True Strike: The rock beneath you crumbles under the might of your pickaxe. Now you don't need as many blows for the same result because the edge always goes where you want it.

  Analyze: You have spent much time figuring out your surroundings, which will become more manageable with this skill. This is a direct upgrade to identify.

  Dynamite: Wow, you know how to make things go boom. This has always been a crucial talent for prospectors to be able to blast a hole in the side of a mountain, +100 % to explosions.

  It was a tough decision, but I took the meteorite skill. I knew I had been getting by with freeform magic, but I wanted to feel cosmic energy. I needed a way to boost my physicality, and I couldn't just rely on my enemy being drunk in the future with the amount of energy from that blast. If I hadn't launched a sneak attack, I would have probably ended up a smear on someone's boot.

  I stood alone in a crater from the explosion. When I punched the armour, I was sure I had destabilised some power source. I was sure the suits were great and would probably increase stats with how much energy they used. But I couldn't bring myself to use that same armor.

  "What a glaring flaw," I said to myself. I began to rummage around in the half of the still-intact side of the barracks. And found what I was looking for.

  Training armor of the imperial son. This lightweight tactical armor was designed with a highly praised noble in mind. His father loved him very much and sent him to the dungeon in hopes that he would be able to bring the family honor through combat. Increase resistance to stabbing attacks and a slight resistance to energy attacks.

  Bag of spatial holding. This tactical bag matches the black armor of the imperial guards and will hold 400 lbs of gear.

  I tried to pick up one of the mana rifles I saw in a gun cabinet.

  Error: The user is a physical class, not a marksman class.

  I wondered why I could freeform magic but couldn't pick up a weapon of the wrong class type. I put on a plain black shirt that I found in one of the wardrobes, some black cargo pants, and combat boots that looked like the ones my dad used to wear, except these were made of dark brown leather instead of tan canvas. I put the training armor over my clothes, looking more like a soldier than a slave. I went into the last unopened door in the barracks and saw a massive portrait of that bastard commander who beat me half to death; he must be an axe-wielder because he had the nicest boarding axe I had ever seen no doubt a family heirloom that had been passed down from one dickhead elf to another. It was almost as if my pickaxe had a baby with a fireman's ax. I stored it in the bag out of spite and kept my trusty bone ax as my primary weapon. Maybe one day I will switch to a traditional axeman, but for now, I like the stabbing damage my current melee weapon does. I went to the abandoned chow hall and loaded up with rations, taking from the nicer quarters reserved only for officers. I read a sign on the wall that said only officers could dine in fatigues, and the rest of the soldiers must wear mess hall uniforms. How typical that those in charge always feel above the rules and want special treatment.

  I would need to get back to my hole soon. I had some unfinished business with some moles.